tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46488726307202804302024-03-06T00:36:16.300-08:00 The Garden of Good & EvilFlash Fiction, short stories & poetry by LoLa Autry, writing as Garden SummerlandLoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.comBlogger107125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-23776194317985908432022-07-26T14:30:00.002-07:002022-07-26T14:30:57.643-07:00Retrogression<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhdmDotbxg8e85lStcQcDiDA2wtUYZ18-0eYTKSUrylaUob1P-G0wpKTX4F09o5LK32KlCPQ9ZoztcApBpEEey47GdMd5acPT6OdtylKduNxFYCiHdGbnJb3fOqVVV08EYwsKTZpj_nmqps_S5R627U8bG0-10mDPXKIRufC8m7CZPjieahxbm_-UcFcQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="565" data-original-width="848" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhdmDotbxg8e85lStcQcDiDA2wtUYZ18-0eYTKSUrylaUob1P-G0wpKTX4F09o5LK32KlCPQ9ZoztcApBpEEey47GdMd5acPT6OdtylKduNxFYCiHdGbnJb3fOqVVV08EYwsKTZpj_nmqps_S5R627U8bG0-10mDPXKIRufC8m7CZPjieahxbm_-UcFcQ" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mama,
what does this word mean?”<br />Tuesday handed me the tattered bound
up papers and I read the words.</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Where
did you get that?” I demanded.</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Grandpa
gave it to me. He said it was his grandmother's. I've tried reading
it, but you have to turn the pages,” she took it back from me,
“like this mama, you just turn the paper over and there is more on
the back of it.”<br />“Yes Tues, it's called a 'book'.”<br />“I
know THAT. Grandpa told me. But I don't understand most of it. What
does this word mean?”<br />She pointed on the page. <br />“It doesn't
matter. You shouldn't be looking at that. Grandpa shouldn't have
given it to you. It's... it's not allowed.”<br />“Why?”<br />“Here,
give it to me and get your Tech Pal out, you should be sitting in
your room gaming instead of reading anyway. It's not good for
you.”<br />Tuesday thrust the book towards me and shrugged her bony
shoulders. She was small for eight years old. <br />“Here, you can
have it. None of it makes any sense anyway. A bunch of words I don't
understand, and I tried to look them up, but ROXIE says they don't
exist. It's stupid.”<br />I fought back tears. The old man shouldn't
have done it. Stirring up things long forgotten. I barely knew what
any of the words meant either. But the one Tuesday had pointed to, I
knew. <br /></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>“Slavery”.</i></span><span style="font-size: medium;">
It was on the list of canceled words. It had been since my mother was
a baby. <br />There were only a handful of people left that remembered
what the canceled words were. I struggled to recall, but only came up
with seven of them; there had been over a hundred. Never spoken,
never written, erased from time, but not from the memories of a
select few that were still alive. It hadn't changed anything. The
words still existed in action and thought, only they weren't allowed
to be spoken now so everyone could pretend like the things they did
weren't wrong. Never getting called out had cleared consciences and
provided false virtue. </span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Back then, people
called it 'political correctness', but it was nothing more than a way
for the government to control our words. It was censorship that we
all embraced. </span></span>
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Grandpa
had tried to teach me about it when I was Tuesday's age but mama
wouldn't hear of it. <br />Fourteen years of Process Clearing worked on
most, and mama had been no exception.</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So
Grandpa was shushed, and I'd grown up like everyone else, oblivious
to the horrors of the past. And I'd chosen to keep it from Tuesday.
After all, I wanted to be a good citizen.</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Keep
the old ones quiet long enough, and they would die out. Then history
could be re-written, so no one would know about the sins of the ages.
Our ancestors looked noble and innocent, and so would we. No matter
what crimes we committed. <br />It was a perfect plan. Utopia would
finally exist. Or would it?</span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">©LoLa Autry 2022</span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Photo Cred: </span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;">Seannel 123rf.com</span></p>
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</p>LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-88932347358929100162021-12-10T04:36:00.002-08:002021-12-10T07:09:59.650-08:00Running Away<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY4Ad-SjkPGYhJKR0yeiBwObq6ZUvq7P_R2XkbQVOh9eRLb9yQ5rBysOjruCV9_U0Hexq2LHxZ2xO9hAISWUAB4tOeWyqeajwRgFT2ujUTNmyUWqKtdQyulXCCgrLqKj17WhSKzHeIeA80/s1009/71252381_s.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="1009" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY4Ad-SjkPGYhJKR0yeiBwObq6ZUvq7P_R2XkbQVOh9eRLb9yQ5rBysOjruCV9_U0Hexq2LHxZ2xO9hAISWUAB4tOeWyqeajwRgFT2ujUTNmyUWqKtdQyulXCCgrLqKj17WhSKzHeIeA80/s320/71252381_s.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I heard laughter. Not just laughter, it
was a giggle. They were in his office. <br />I'd brought him lunch; his
favorite from the diner across the street.</span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I silently walked to the end of the
hall and nudged open the door.<br />Waves of tousled blond hair bobbed
behind the desk. He was sitting with his head tilted back and his
eyes closed. The leather executive chair I'd bought him when he'd
leased the office strategically positioned to shield their illicit
activity.
</span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I waited. A moment later, he felt my
presence. He opened his eyes as he turned his head towards me. He
pushed her away and sprang to his feet in one fell swoop. It was
almost comical.<br />“It's not what it looks like.” He stammered,
straightening his clothes. <br />“Oh, I think it is exactly what it
looks like.” I stared him down. He'd been caught. <br />“Please, I
just... I missed you, and I...she means nothing.”<br />Why did he
have to say <i>that</i>? Surely she meant <i>something</i>. <br />“Zip
your pants.” It sounded cold, a command devoid of emotion. <br />I
turned to leave but he grabbed my arm and swung me around. I dropped
his lunch, and tried to pull away but lost my balance and fell
forward into him. I was furious. <br />He held me. My skin flushed and
the room seemed to go dim. <br />I waited for him to kiss me but he
didn't. I wanted him to kiss me, I wanted him to love me again. Crazy
thoughts swirled in my head, he held me tighter. <br />“I won't let
you go.” he whispered into my ear. <br />“Ahem.” She cleared her
throat. <br />I'd forgotten there was someone else there. I'd seen her
before, but never thought twice about it. Another lawyer's wife, or
girlfriend; something.<br />I felt stupid, and tricked. He'd done it
again. But this was the last time. <br />I wrenched myself from his
grip. <br />“You won't see me again.” <br />He called after me, but
didn't follow.<br />I started running and didn't look back. <br />After
that day, I'd continued to run. All through my life, away from
people. Away from him. Always away from him. I would find a little of
him in every man I would ever date. And I would always run away
before they could hurt me too. <br />I would never recover, never heal.
I'd loved him and he'd betrayed me. Changed me.<br />But I would make
damn certain that it would never happen again. <br />Unknowingly, he
had created a simple solution to every problem I'd ever have.
</span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Just keep running away.
</span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></p><p>
</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #4d5156;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">©
LolaAutry 2021</span></span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #4d5156;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Photo cred: itsajoop</span></span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #4d5156;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #4d5156;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="color: #4d5156;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /><br /></span></span><p></p><p><br /></p>LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-38908058654788494162020-09-12T18:12:00.001-07:002020-09-12T18:27:32.914-07:00Finally<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLvCcT4jYlwNCxdSZdwm5lXLkKfNRlzncWCVkFE92ZN_lRNdwUUfs4EUlBUNhrIGvUoWg8Wte8li2IKV4XyyflglLd82viots9qw7KtipGIil-XUzad6rIw3AaWuOC7Xd4sn58onnB3ix_/s570/Finally+.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="465" data-original-width="570" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLvCcT4jYlwNCxdSZdwm5lXLkKfNRlzncWCVkFE92ZN_lRNdwUUfs4EUlBUNhrIGvUoWg8Wte8li2IKV4XyyflglLd82viots9qw7KtipGIil-XUzad6rIw3AaWuOC7Xd4sn58onnB3ix_/s320/Finally+.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I was unfazed by the chill in the
evening air; my skin was hot, my face flushed with fear.</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My eyes darted across the street and
back, searching for a familiar face; they were all strangers.<br />“I
didn't do it.” I whispered it, no one noticed.</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I shook my head in disbelief. They were
all staring at me. A sea of blue uniforms and red flashing lights. My
head was spinning.<br />“Mrs. Anderson, I advise you not to say
anything else.” Some lady I didn't know shouted out from the blur
of faces. She would be my attorney. I had no idea how I'd find her,
but she already believed in me.<br />“I didn't do it.” I repeated
it louder this time.
</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Tears were flowing freely down my
cheeks and my shoulders began to shake uncontrollably.</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I glanced sideways at the body. <i>His</i>
body. They thought I killed him. What did they know? <br />With my
hands behind my back and metal clamped around my wrists, turmoil
swept through the crowd.<br />It was shocking and strange and
frightening; Death sprawled out in their street. Their once quiet
suburbia subjected to a new horror.</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A female officer guided me towards a
patrol car, “You have the right to remain silent, anything you say
can and will be used against you in a court of law....” her voice
became muffled and I shut out the rest.
</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I couldn't hear anything but the roar
of screams inside my head. He was <i>dead.<br /></i><span style="font-style: normal;">“I
didn't do it.” I repeated it over and over. </span>
</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-style: normal;">I was
rehearsing. And celebrating. </span><i><br />He was dead. </i>
</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Finally.</span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">©2020 Lola Autry</span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Picture Credit: 123rf</span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></p>
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</p>LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-44993899428796907182020-02-24T13:16:00.000-08:002020-02-24T13:16:09.542-08:00Our Is Not to Reason Why<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk4LDDgzmv1RXkx6u_TMSPOICZdLWNyO7AC92Tus0tvbNrgWz1SVYoga7_0raRFvGn3mt99BHZXbzgIgPINHvGKOIhjelD_Jtpg5_weRJ4ermt4ldd5nRdcYN3WXDB__tqFxWcyo-xeUeM/s1600/67463118_s.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk4LDDgzmv1RXkx6u_TMSPOICZdLWNyO7AC92Tus0tvbNrgWz1SVYoga7_0raRFvGn3mt99BHZXbzgIgPINHvGKOIhjelD_Jtpg5_weRJ4ermt4ldd5nRdcYN3WXDB__tqFxWcyo-xeUeM/s320/67463118_s.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I'm ready to die.” It was matter
of fact. She was sure.<br />“No, you're not.” I pleaded with her.
We'd come too far for her to let go now. It had been six months, and
they'd told her she had three.<br />“Yes dear, I've lived a long
life, I've done everything I ever wanted to do... it's time.”<br />I
squeezed her hand. <br />“No, I won't let you go.” Tears streamed
down my cheeks, I couldn't choke them back.<br />Machines started
beeping, her eyes fluttered and closed as her hand went limp.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I screamed. I was still shrieking when
the nurses came running into the room. <br />I'd prayed, and I'd
fasted, and I'd promised the world for her to live. I'd done
everything. Everything except sell my soul. I'd failed her. And now
she was gone. <br />The lights dimmed and everyone slowed to a
standstill enveloped in darkness. My skin was burning, and I felt
ill. <br />“No!” I bellowed angrily into the shadows, “You can't
have her!”<br />Blinding light filled the room forcing me to my
knees. I didn't dare look up, I could feel His presence. <br />He was
not there to bargain. He would not listen, He never had. His will not
mine. Never mine. I couldn't accept it. But He allowed me to
fight.<br />The room was still and silent, frozen in time, He was
granting me a moment. A moment to process, a moment to say good-bye,
a moment to make a choice. <br />“Take me.” The words tumbled out
of my mouth without a thought.<br />I looked at my grandmother and she
opened her eyes, crystal blue and clear as a summer sky. <br />“It's
not your choice, it's mine,” she spoke softly but her voice was
strong and firm, the voice of calm reason I'd heard all my life.<br />It
didn't matter. She was all I had left, I had no one else. He had
taken them all over the years. One by one. And each time, I'd grieved
and dealt with the loss. But no more.<br />I saw no purpose for my life
other than the one now presented. He knew. <br />“You will not be
alone.” His soothing voice was inside my head. <br />The room was
darkening once again and I collapsed to the floor. As I lost
consciousness, the bright light dissipated, and my grandmother closed
her eyes again. <br />When I awakened, I was in a hospital bed, aching
all over. I struggled to remember, but could not. <br />I was startled
out of my attempted recall as a nurse with a wide smile came in
carrying a swaddled newborn.<br />“Good morning, mama! You did a
beautiful job. Want to see her?” <br />My memories flooded back. Now
I understood. He was right, I would not be alone anymore. <br />I held
out my arms and took the infant, snuggling her close.<br />“You had
us worried for a while, but God knew what he was doing.” The nurse
patted me on the arm. “Yes,” I shook my head, “He sure did.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I smiled down at my new hope, and
whispered softly, “Welcome to the world little Ruby.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">©2020 LoLa Autry</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This story is dedicated to the memory of my grandmother, Ruby C. Land. </span></div>
<br />LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-695064853139633622018-07-04T17:38:00.000-07:002018-07-04T17:38:00.806-07:00The Light<div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> John Wilde escorted me across the
vast expanse of a manicured lawn towards a brick building twice as
long as it was wide. He held the door open for me and I entered
somewhat reluctantly. I expected more from the interior of a so
called 'cathedral'; it looked more like a school auditorium with rows
of gray metal chairs. Almost every seat was filled with a white robed
occupant staring blankly ahead; or at least they were, before the
door slammed announcing our arrival and every head turned to study
us. John and I walked quickly to the front and took two of the four
empty seats directly facing the podium. No one spoke. Their weird
silence made me question my decision to come here alone. I'd known
John thirty years ago when we were in elementary school; I hadn't
seen him since. But when I called, he was pleasant and accommodating.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I'd seen him on the news a few
times, always standing beside the Prophet; John was in deep. In spite
of his cordial attitude, I was shocked when he'd agreed to set up a
day of visitation and an interview with the reclusive leader of <i>The
Light</i>. The mainstream media had never been allowed inside the
gated compound. The one stipulation of my invitation, was that I
wasn't allowed to speak to anyone other than John or the Prophet
during my stay. And I had signed a statement that I had come to <i>The
Light</i> of my own free will. I wondered if that had been a wise
decision. These people were obviously insane.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The lights dimmed and
organ music played softly through the sound system. Heads bowed as a
red robed figure strode across the small stage before us. He stopped
at the podium, the lights came back up, and the music stopped. He
smiled, and everyone beamed. Even I felt the electric charge coursing
through the room.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He was an exquisite
creature with crystal blue eyes and a full mane of wavy dark hair;
the crowd was mesmerized. I caught my breathing which had quickened.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Good morning my
children.” He spoke with an accent I couldn't quite place.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In unison they responded,
“Good morning Brother.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I leaned in whispering to
John,“So, where is he from? Does he have a degree?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “We don't question
Brother Malachi,” he snapped.<br /> “I wasn't. I'm
questioning you.” I couldn't help but shake my head in disbelief.
This guy had them all brainwashed. I breathed deeply and
calmed my heart. I would not get taken in.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">John cleared his throat and handed me a
colorful tri-fold pamphlet.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “This should answer any
questions you have. We find that after you've been integrated into
the community you won't find the outsiders questions to be relevant.
Look around, the Master has created all of this for us. It is Utopia
for his chosen. And we, in appreciation, have chosen him.” His
voice was soft, but the intonation was firm.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I pressed on. “So there is still
free will?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">His face screwed into a half smile.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Oh yes, there is always that.
And you can change your mind about us at any time, you are always
free to leave. Just as Brother Malachi is free to ask
you to leave, should he deem your '<i>investigation</i>'
to be in violation of the Moral Code.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I studied his face. He was testing me.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The others watched me with their cold
vacant eyes. I was keenly aware of their steely stares pressing into
the back of my head. I wondered if all it would take was a wave of
the Prophet's hand to have them attack me.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “So what's next then? I get my
robes and trade in my heels for some Jesus sandals?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My playful mocking tone was lost on his
stoic demeanor.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “First you have a private
session with Our lord. Oh, and don't call him that. You must address
him as Brother Malachi, or as Prophet LeFevre. He prefers the latter
from... non-initiates.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I almost choked. Brother Malachi was no
less than their savior.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was exactly what
I'd been waiting for; the reason for my visit. Several former members
had made accusations of sexual impropriety in <i>The Light</i>; never
specifically referencing Malachi, but the local papers had made it
pretty clear it had been one of the higher ups. I'd been reading
about the <i>The Light</i> for the past year. There had never been
any concrete evidence, and never any formal charges filed, which was
typical of cults like these.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'd done a smattering of
freelance investigative reporting, so I figured, why not? If I could
get the right angle, it promised to be the expose of the decade.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Well show me the
light.” I whispered back, chuckling softly at my pun, until John
shot me yet another icy glare. It was clear he was one of them. <br />The
organ music resumed in the background as Brother Malachi began his
spiel. I hoped his monologue wouldn't last long.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Electronics were forbidden
in the compound, so I'd brought a pen and notepad. I listened
intently, jotting down random quotes. Nothing I hadn't heard before,
but the delivery was hypnotic. I realized I was getting lost in his
words and began to consciously block them out. <br /> When he
finished speaking, he was ushered off the stage by two burly men in
black robes. <br />John stood up and asked me to follow. We exited the
same way we had entered, and followed a stone path to a small white
cottage behind the cathedral. Brother Malachi was seated in a gold
velvet chair by a fireplace with no fire. It was cold and I shivered
as he glanced up at us. I stepped towards him and he arose and held
out his hands to me. I took them reluctantly and he guided me to an
identical chair opposite his. <br />“Let me look at you,” he spoke
softly as he took my face in his hands. <br />I recoiled slightly, but
said nothing.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After a few seconds he
dropped his hands from my face and stepped back. There seemed to be a
faint indigo light around him; or had I imagined it? My breath was
shallow and my heart raced; I felt dizzy. <br />“Please, sit.” He
motioned to the chair behind me. I didn't make it. I collapsed onto
the floor in front of him. His smirk was the last thing I saw. <br />When
I awoke, I was resting on a hospital bed in their infirmary; white
robed novices rushing around and speculating in hushed voices. <br />I
felt his presence before I saw him. <br />“Amber-Lyn. I have chosen
you.” He was speaking inside my mind.<br />I nodded yes without
thinking. I couldn't remember what my name was, but I was pretty
certain it wasn't Amber-Lyn. <br />“What... what have you done to me?
I... can't stay here. I want to leave.” I tried in vain to sit up
but I was strapped to the bed.<br />He glided closer and touched my
hand. This time I was certain; there was a bluish glow surrounding
him. I was physically paralyzed as an electric current pulsed through
my skin and up my arm. As it worked it's way through my body my mind
fought against him. But he was stronger than me; his aura flowed into
me like a drug, and my resistance fell away. I belonged here, to him.
<br /> I was one of them now, peaceful and happy. Happier than I
had ever been.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had no doubts, no fear, no questions. I had been
shown <i>The Light</i>.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">© GardenSummerland 2018</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<a href="copyright: <a href='https://www.123rf.com/profile_venerala'>venerala / 123RF Stock Photo</a>" target="_blank">Photo: Copyright 123.rf</a>LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-31084558919719685212018-03-10T15:02:00.001-08:002018-03-10T15:39:55.209-08:00Yesterday<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqdf1C9FkIYZgYFMuIbRrbuc85PVc1Xm6Qmlu_AeWLeStp3D6FX9pbayXJWpGaMvA96LnCz3Z94PfL1GqUpTMXi1A9LrG_p67aeumd3gDY7gt2mcEuWyG10rJyuyzuuH_zlO5kjlSV1tnb/s1600/60343150_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="450" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqdf1C9FkIYZgYFMuIbRrbuc85PVc1Xm6Qmlu_AeWLeStp3D6FX9pbayXJWpGaMvA96LnCz3Z94PfL1GqUpTMXi1A9LrG_p67aeumd3gDY7gt2mcEuWyG10rJyuyzuuH_zlO5kjlSV1tnb/s320/60343150_s.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> Leanne hadn't left her house in over
seven years. She hadn't even been outside on the porch or the back
patio. She'd forgotten what the air smelled like; the smell of fresh
cut grass and the stench from the meat processing plant that
should've been shut down ages ago.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> She walked carefully along the new
sidewalk, observing the turquoise houses. Just yesterday there had
been nothing there. Just a wide expanse of weeds and wildflowers
growing unchecked. Wasn't it just yesterday?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When had it changed? No, it wasn't
yesterday.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> She shook her head and tried to
remember the way. She counted four pink houses in the row, and one
yellow one. The rest were greenish-blue with white shutters. It made
her sad. Maybe she wouldn't go back home. Maybe she would keep
walking; walk and walk and walk until she fell down from sheer
exhaustion. <br /> The row of houses seemed to go on forever. She
couldn't go back home now; she had no idea where she was. She
shivered and pulled her gray cardigan tighter around her. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> Her flip
flops made a smacking sound with each step and she tried to remember
the rhyme her father had told her when she was a little girl. <br /> That
was yesterday too. But she'd already forgotten. <br /> He had told her
what to do when she felt like this. She could see his face and hear
his voice, but now the words were jumbled inside her head.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> “If you get lost, find a policeman.”
He'd spoken gently and patted her on the head. She had been five
then. <br /> A tear rolled down her cheek as she remembered the happy
times with her father; living in his car, playing at the beach and
collecting shells. He'd bought her cotton candy at the fair with
money they'd gotten from collecting bottles, and they'd walked hand
in hand to the end of the pier to watch the sun set.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> That was yesterday too. But she'd never
forget that. It was the one thing she could remember forever.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> The sidewalk ended, but the row of
houses never would. She sat down and pulled a half eaten moon pie
from her sweater pocket. She wished she had an orange soda. The moon
pie was a bit stale, but the sweetness took her back to her childhood; when there were no yesterdays, only tomorrows.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">© Garden Summerland 2018</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Photo Cred: Sasin Tipchai </span>LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-10624626401702525932018-02-03T13:26:00.001-08:002018-02-03T14:35:43.090-08:00Freak<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu76luxkudpZe2TBye1w55R0_1YhJgRij6s2tgBt7Nt4nzG1hH-7_HVKZ6YWSUJNE4VUZGo1RCkXzWG7nEV0JN80cJUKxLUplu5Jyp1gg1klDmmk_TE0FtUlDJGpwJa9UR4qfn9-3jBX_p/s1600/54040240_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="450" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu76luxkudpZe2TBye1w55R0_1YhJgRij6s2tgBt7Nt4nzG1hH-7_HVKZ6YWSUJNE4VUZGo1RCkXzWG7nEV0JN80cJUKxLUplu5Jyp1gg1klDmmk_TE0FtUlDJGpwJa9UR4qfn9-3jBX_p/s320/54040240_s.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“What kind of message does that send
when you go out of the house looking like that. Do you want people to
call you a freak?" Lenny cocked her head to one side, and gave
me that disapproving look she'd perfected.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I stared down at the floor. People
already called me a freak. It wouldn't matter what I did now, I'd
been labeled. And I really didn't care, it was who I was, or at least
it was who I'd become. And maybe I'd done it on purpose. I didn't
belong here; I didn't belong anywhere. I knew it and so did she.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Annalise? Are you listening?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I shook my head without looking up at
her. “Yes ma'am.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Well then go back upstairs and
change your clothes. And wipe that black stuff off of your face. You
look like a Satanist.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That was her favorite one. A Satanist
indeed. She wouldn't know a Satanist if one held her down for a blood
ritual. Of course for that matter neither would I. I'd lived my
entire life in Colvale; a quiet little town with a grand population
of just under two thousand. There was one religion and two churches.
The residents all looked the same, thought the same, acted and
reacted the same. Anyone with black eyeliner and an Anarchy t-shirt
was a devil worshiper and a freak. That was me. A wanna be member of
a sub-culture that didn't exist in my neck of the woods; just a
freak, a lonely freak. It probably also didn't help matters that I
was almost six feet tall with slanted golden eyes and fiery red hair
that I kept cropped close to my scalp. I was their lost lamb; a
project to some. Those with their plain clothes and religious zeal. I
sat next to them in the pew every Sunday, waiting for God to strike
me down. He couldn't miss me. The pseudo-goth in the third row amidst
a sea of long print dresses and modest hairstyles. My face had been
scrubbed clean, and yet the wildness within me screamed from every
pore. I had no control over it.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Lenny didn't know how to deal with me,
no one did. I'd been in seven foster homes since my mother abandoned
me when I was two years old. I'd been with Lenny for three years; and
she had more patience than most. I think on some level that she loved
me, no else had even tried. Not that I'd ever heard her say it. But
it was in her soft gray eyes. She cared, and it was for that reason I
decided to spare her. But none of the others.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was the second Sunday in February of
last year the first time the pastor shook my hand. The iciness of my
skin burned into his, stealing his warmth until he yanked his hand
away. I smiled and narrowed my eyes concentrating my thoughts into
his until I heard him gasp for air. I looked away and he coughed.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Nice sermon Pastor Jim." I
winked at him as the color began to return to his face and I lost
myself in the crowd. I knew then that he would be the first.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Days turned into weeks and now it had
almost been a year to the day, but he hadn't looked at me since.
Maybe he knew what I was waiting for; he was, after all, a man of the
cloth. As an educated spiritual man, he should've known the signs.
</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The day of reckoning had arrived; a
Sunday on a full moon, a bitter cold morning with frost on the ground
and even colder hearts waiting to receive their judgment. Today was
the day. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #222222; font-weight: 700;">©2018</span><span style="color: #222222; font-weight: 700;"> Garden Summerland</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #222222; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #222222;">Photo/Artist Cred: </span><span style="color: #333333;">Iulian Dragomir via 123rf.com</span></span></span></span></div>
LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-19587213879530201282017-07-10T11:02:00.000-07:002017-07-10T11:02:20.610-07:00Business As Usual<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8eEpR9Z00liWs_maVZMt3Fnd82lKayyh2BQWlocflU_p7-dpbB2LMfqOnC5tkIOK1j6xE3Lf3fslygRwKKTHtk3_fX04XsnrfvLnxhY1NJq4dM9HIq9Tt8YvcJslyIK-mxrFsT_S9KfaK/s1600/50706393_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="450" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8eEpR9Z00liWs_maVZMt3Fnd82lKayyh2BQWlocflU_p7-dpbB2LMfqOnC5tkIOK1j6xE3Lf3fslygRwKKTHtk3_fX04XsnrfvLnxhY1NJq4dM9HIq9Tt8YvcJslyIK-mxrFsT_S9KfaK/s320/50706393_s.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>“Olin Elijah Whitaker!”
</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>I heard Miss Johnstone screaming at
the top of her lungs from across the playground.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>The boy sitting on top of me rolled
off and got up, running away.
</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>I couldn't move; paralyzed with
fear, I was face down on the ground. I had a mouthful of dirt, and
scraped knees; my pink and blue flowered dress up around my neck, my
underwear pulled down on one side.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Lily Johnstone ran past the groups
of children on the monkey bars and swings, barreling towards me at
break-neck speed. She snatched me up and smoothed my dress as she
pulled me into a protective hug.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>“There now Amelie, it's all over.
Olin will be severely punished. You just let it out honey. It won't
ever happen again.”</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>I wasn't even crying anymore. I was
all cried out. </i>
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I blinked my eyes trying to shut out
the memory; unintentional tears rolled from the corners of my eyes. I
wasn't cried out after all. But there was no comfort to be found in a
county emergency room. All I felt was the cold.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And Miss Johnstone had been wrong. Time
after time, she had been wrong.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The doctor mumbled something to the
nurse and he left the room. I was glad. Enough people had seen me
naked for one day.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was ashamed. Not unlike that
embarrassing day on the playground.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had been seven then, I was
thirty-seven now. Time had flown by, and nothing much had changed.
Continual onslaughts against my person-hood; my privacy; my soul. Life
had not been gentle with me. Not since Olin Whitaker.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I pulled the paper gown close around
me. I wondered what had become of Olin. Probably in prison somewhere.
I hoped so.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thirty years ago he'd shown me the
brutal side of human nature, and it was all I had bothered to see
since. Today had been no exception.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Miss Donovan, the police would like
to speak to you now.” The nurse opened the door and a male and
female officer entered the room. I glared at the male and rolled my
eyes.<br />He stepped back, letting the female officer introduce
herself, and then him.<br />“Miss Donovan, I'm Officer Denise
Pettit,” she spoke softly as she motioned towards the uniform
behind her, “and this is Officer Whitaker...” I bolted upright,
not hearing any of what came after.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Fear struck my very soul.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My eyes pierced through his, boring
into his skull. It was him. Thirty years later, and that bastard was
a cop now. <br />I lost control and lunged off of the exam table
towards him, shoving Officer Pettit out of my way. <br />I clawed at
his face, leaving long scratches down both of his cheeks before
Officer Denise tackled me to the cold tile floor. <br /><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was handcuffed and read my rights. No
one ever asked me why. They didn't care. Now I would be taken to the
county jail, with no one to bail me out. And there I would suffer yet
again, innumerable barrages against my person-hood.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It would be for me, business as usual.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: small;">©2017</span></span><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: small;">Garden
Summerland</span></span>
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: small;">*This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, places or situations is purely coincidental. </span></span></span></div>
LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-49420807877494727122017-04-11T11:53:00.000-07:002017-04-11T11:53:43.349-07:00The Remedy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5es0wu45BQciOSTLHjRy_DRQqT_L_3uGI5d_6dHZGFhGLm8BMLe6ewb5FIIDu7yQQlV2BXE12Ln_aXspq_lwdG9xWRIhAp5JiGBVLUOdxjM8P0eLtEvtYh8hTmN9FtK5iy_3qmtdbAY5V/s1600/46189991_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5es0wu45BQciOSTLHjRy_DRQqT_L_3uGI5d_6dHZGFhGLm8BMLe6ewb5FIIDu7yQQlV2BXE12Ln_aXspq_lwdG9xWRIhAp5JiGBVLUOdxjM8P0eLtEvtYh8hTmN9FtK5iy_3qmtdbAY5V/s320/46189991_s.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Here, drink this.” It was my third
attempt in an hour.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Solomon shook his head, “No. It
smells funny. Take it away.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Come on Sol, take your medicine.”
I steadied the spoonful of red sticky liquid and held it to his lips.
He knocked it out of my hands.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Dammit Sol. This stuff is expensive.
You can't keep doing this.”<br />“I'm not sick anymore. I told you,
I'm getting better. I... I took care of it.”<br />“Sol... really?
What'd you take this time? That last 'herbal remedy' you took put you
in the hospital for a week. I pay good money for the best medical
care in the city. I promise, you will get better, but you have to
take the medicine prescribed for you by an actual doctor. These snake
oil sales pitches that sucker you in are ripping you off, and making
you sicker.”<br />He leaned back and smiled. <br />“Just fluff my
pillows and bring me soup Jillian. No more saccharin pharmaceuticals,
okay? I told you, I took care of it.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You're crazy. And I can't take it
any more. I have been here through it all... the hospitals, the
tests, the transfusions... I've bathed you and fed you and changed
you... but if you won't do what you are supposed to do, geez, if you
won't help yourself, then... I'm done.”<br />He patted my hand.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“It's okay Jilly. You'll see. I'll be
up and dancing in three days.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tears rolled down my cheeks. He was a
breathing skeleton. In three days my only brother would be dead.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But in three days, sure enough, Sol was
up dancing around. And I could have sworn he looked ten years
younger.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Oh my sweet Lord, Sol.... what have
you done?” It was a miracle.<br />He smiled at me, grabbed my hand
and twirled me around. It made me dizzy and giddy. I was thrilled.
For the moment.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I'm well Jilly. I've been cured.”
He paused and a sly grin crept across his face. “You know, you
don't look so good sis. I hope you're not getting.... <i>sick</i>.”<br />All
at once, I felt weak as his face twisted into an evil contortion. My
skin was feverish and then ice cold.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I screamed at him. “Solomon, no...
how could you?”<br />He sighed, and a relaxed expression returned to
his face. He was Solomon again. But no, he wasn't. He spoke in a
gravelly whisper. “It was easy. You see, I wanted to live, and in
exchange... all I had to do was offer up the three people I loved the
most. You, mom and dad. A tough sacrifice Jilly, but now I'll live
forever. I'm sorry Jillian... I truly am. But I just couldn't be sick
anymore. It really wears you down. I was given a choice, and well, I
chose to live.”
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I didn't want to believe it, but I did.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What? A choice? Who gave you a
choice like that? Sol... really... who? What... It's not possible...”
My head was spinning and my voice trailed off. I felt ill, suddenly
not just heart sick, but physically sick, in the pit of my stomach. I
ran towards the bathroom, but didn't make it. I vomited twice in the
hall. <br />Sol was right there with me; he pulled back my hair and
wiped my mouth on the sleeve of his shirt.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Don't worry Jilly... I'm here for
you. I'll take care of you like you did for me. And you'll get
through it just like I did. But you'll take your medicine won't you?
And you'll get better, just like you said I would.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I couldn't fathom what was happening;
it just didn't register in my mind. No....he wouldn't have, even if
he could. His own family? I was his only sister, he wouldn't have
bargained me away to... to what? He hadn't even said.<br />He stroked
my hair.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Don't you worry Jilly, you have a
choice too. I know the remedy, and it won't cost you a dime.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">©2017</span></span><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span></span><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Garden
Summerland</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
</span></b>
</div>
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</div>
LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-77402352340269882042016-12-15T16:48:00.000-08:002016-12-15T16:48:03.795-08:00Favourite Son<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU1t7dIexUSNHaO12ICJ7qR2smjh1ZibhJqXLrmVnsLh759p_xC2AUChfleCdORBfTLkpY5UKXZ5kamSDKZ44UOhVGBSVL9sRT2kRH53-xC5TzQdLNP8xyxgtPLM60rzBdZ0ijD3ciYPoB/s1600/19656744_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU1t7dIexUSNHaO12ICJ7qR2smjh1ZibhJqXLrmVnsLh759p_xC2AUChfleCdORBfTLkpY5UKXZ5kamSDKZ44UOhVGBSVL9sRT2kRH53-xC5TzQdLNP8xyxgtPLM60rzBdZ0ijD3ciYPoB/s320/19656744_s.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Is that you Jamie?” She squinted
without her glasses. I knew she couldn't make out my face.</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I squeezed her hand gently.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“No ma, it's Joey. Don't try to move,
you were in a car accident. You're in the hospital now...everything
will be okay.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She groaned and her eyes fluttered.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Where's Jamie?” She croaked, her
voice dry and brittle.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Don't try to talk ma... just get
your rest.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I bowed my head and stared at the green
tile floor. Should I tell her that I was all she had left now? Jamie
had died six hours ago in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. I
knew somehow she would blame me, she always had; for everything. I'd
spent my life apologizing for never being good enough; for never
being Jamie. And now he was dead and I was the one left to comfort
her.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I swallowed hard and let go of her
hand. Maybe it would be better for everyone if she didn't pull
through. It would certainly be better for me. The thought sickened me
and yet gave me hope. She'd done nothing but make my life hell.
Twenty-seven years, and she'd hated me for every single one of them.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I looked around. No one was watching...
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She was in bad shape; broken and old.
It wouldn't take much.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Ma... Jamie didn't make it. He's
dead.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It took a moment for it to sink in.
Then her eyes opened wide and machines started beeping erratically.
She opened her mouth but no sound came out. Cardiac arrest.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Nurses rushed to her and doctors came in as </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I backed away slowly; watching through
tears as they tried to save my mother.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Was I really sad? She'd never loved me.
The only one she had loved died today, and now she would join him.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I would go on living. A peaceful life
now, with both of them gone.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I should've been grief stricken. I
should have been heart sick to the core. Two family members taken
from me right here at the holidays.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But my tears were tears of joy. I was
free.
</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">©2016 Garden Summerland</span></span>LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-66274306617869702902016-09-08T15:35:00.000-07:002016-09-08T15:35:27.534-07:00Against His Will<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9evyk_h_VHrxQ8sCA7a2LVTH-dbyPZmDJtJLIoAR2MZQl6tSoSKrrVqHOxHghbc0YO-N77ItQujBrpWyYSU_OQ-uXmbH-AfQLWrZbsHShKIZy6PyP0jjjjBMHtnm3XBjRvECUsLuTiDtj/s1600/46529421_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9evyk_h_VHrxQ8sCA7a2LVTH-dbyPZmDJtJLIoAR2MZQl6tSoSKrrVqHOxHghbc0YO-N77ItQujBrpWyYSU_OQ-uXmbH-AfQLWrZbsHShKIZy6PyP0jjjjBMHtnm3XBjRvECUsLuTiDtj/s320/46529421_s.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>I had been warned.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Never against his will. It would end
badly.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>But I was willing to risk it, even
if he wasn't.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I waited a long time before I moved his
body. It had been at least an hour. Within the first ten minutes I'd
stopped bleeding and my wound had begun to close. I traced my
fingers along my neck and remembered how good it felt to be on the
receiving end again. It had been eons since I'd had that pleasure. A
dark alley in the early 18th century; there had been two of them. And
I'd never been paid. Unless the token of immortality had been my
wage. I remembered them fondly. One light and one dark, shredding my
clothes and then my skin. It was a beautiful savagery that I would
never experience again. Until tonight.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was after midnight, and the street
below was quiet. I sat on the living room floor of the darkened
apartment, the light from the bedroom down the hall barely
illuminating the scene. There was a growing puddle of blood on the
floor and crimson streaks down the wall. And it was on his mouth.
Flashbacks in my head... his mouth on my neck, the exquisite pain and
then the ecstasy. I'd forced him to feed. He hadn't wanted it. At
least not at first. He had fought me, and then he'd lost control.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Frenzied tearing into my throat until I
threw him across the room. His head smashed against the wall cracking
his skull open; splattering blood across the pink floral wallpaper.
He hit the floor with a sick thud and I sat there, shocked at my own
brutality. I'd never done that.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He bled out in front of me and I did
nothing to stop it. I could have healed him; stopped his
transformation. Something.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But the truth...I was overjoyed; his
humanity had drained; and it wouldn't be long now.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My feelings had over-ruled my better
judgment. I loved him and I wanted him to be one of us... like me.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Forever.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'd asked, and he'd said no. But I'd
made him do it anyway. And he'd loved it, just like I knew he would.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Would he hate me when he resurrected?
Would he finish ripping into my throat? Or would he take me as the
humans did to each other? Stripping my clothes away to press his bare
body against mine, and inside of mine, trying to become me, to own
me. Was it really so different than what I had done?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I stared at his serene face. He looked
dead; his face was pale, his eyes closed and darkness creeping in
around the lids. I wanted to kiss him. I did not.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He was as perfect in mortal death as he
had been in life. I stroked his wild blond hair and caressed the side
of his face. He had immaculate features; chiseled cheekbones and a
pouty bow mouth that was made for kissing. My eyes traveled over the
rest of him; his onyx shirt unbuttoned revealing a smooth chest and a
raven tattoo. Even lifeless, his hot body screamed out for my
vampiric desires. Who could've resisted?
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'd fed on him numerous times and he
was none the wiser. I'd hidden the memory from him; I was nothing
more than the beautiful and mysterious woman that lived in the
apartment across the hall. Occasionally we'd meet on the elevator or
in the stairwell, and he'd look at me with a puzzled expression,
waving sheepishly before he made himself turn away. I always returned
his glances with an innocent smile, fighting the urge to lick my lips
as I remembered his salty copperness. I craved him. And I'd broken my
own rule by continuing to feed on him. Once and then move on. But he
tasted so damn good, I couldn't leave him. And then I'd really
screwed up, I'd allowed it... that feeling.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Love; such a twisted emotion. It makes
the body want things the mind knows it can't have; that it shouldn't
have. And vampires don't like being told 'no'.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I continued waiting; impatiently for
hours until he regained consciousness. Now he was fully awake in his
new form. A vampire like me. I smiled at him.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was immediately apparent he did not
share in my elation. He was upon me in seconds, using his new found
strength to pin me against the wall. My joy had made me weak.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He didn't know he couldn't physically
hurt me, but he sure gave it his best shot.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He was tireless, and the night dragged
on with him wailing away upon my body, until finally his anger wore
him down.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He would never know how to truly hurt
me... the one action he could take that would break me. I would never
let it happen. I would revel in his anger and his hatred, the
knowledge that he felt <i>something</i> for me.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As long as I could be with him forever,
I could be happy.
</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And maybe one day, he would be happy
too. But for now...</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; line-height: 19.2px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">©2016 Garden Summerland</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-54457009411115478252016-08-23T11:51:00.000-07:002016-08-23T11:51:05.450-07:00Stupid Beautiful <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaNsiUtcdIEm-t0q7U0mz6qRJ7W4Rh26QEVbF0wM18WWfszT0rXohuvakRZYamDyfFYeWP9agdkRZc7mlTlJG_GmHE9bkeGSXiTHuvA6YQQWjpjzVjGm7g8YeqbYdtQ2LyihxQfUGVLjGC/s1600/59121339_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaNsiUtcdIEm-t0q7U0mz6qRJ7W4Rh26QEVbF0wM18WWfszT0rXohuvakRZYamDyfFYeWP9agdkRZc7mlTlJG_GmHE9bkeGSXiTHuvA6YQQWjpjzVjGm7g8YeqbYdtQ2LyihxQfUGVLjGC/s320/59121339_s.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ella
took another sip of her cafe au lait and looked at her phone. Tom was
predictably late, but usually just ten or fifteen minutes. Initially,
there had been anger over his thoughtlessness, but it had subsided
and her emotions had turned to concern. Reluctantly, she shook it
off. Surely there was no cause to worry. They'd been meeting in
random coffee shops for almost a year now, and he'd never been on
time. Plus, he was worth waiting for.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
waved to the waitress for the check. She looked at her phone again.
Nothing.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">No
calls, no texts. Where was he?</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Another
ten minutes passed and still no Tom. She was rummaging in her purse
for change to leave the waitress when she felt his presence behind
her.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
turned in her seat, glaring at him over her shoulder.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Where
the hell have you been? I thought... I thought something had happened
to you. I was...” she paused not wanting to admit to him how deeply
she really cared.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Oh,
how sweet, you were worried about me. Well, I just like to see if
you'll wait for me.” He smirked.<br />“So you're testing me?
Seriously? I was getting ready to leave. You're coming up on two
hours now. I think you beat your own record.”</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Come
on Ella, don't be mad.” He produced a red rose from behind his back
and smiled that dazzling smile that made her heart race; his green
eyes twinkling with mischief.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And
you think that's all it will take? A rose and a smile?” Her
countenance was stern. But she couldn't hold it for long and let out
a defeated sigh. “Yeah, okay.”</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
took the flower and her face softened. She was fully aware that he
was working her but she didn't care. Within the next hour they would
be naked and entangled with each other in a motel bed, everything
else falling into oblivion. She was slowly becoming accustomed to his
lateness, his excuses, and his utter disregard for her schedule and
her feelings; and now she couldn't stay away. He brought her the
utmost pleasure, and an escape from her husband Mark, an
over-bearing, abusive control freak. The tighter he held her, the
farther away she had become; mentally and now physically. He was the
reason she'd become such easy prey for Tom.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
had traded one master for another, and she didn't even realize it.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tom
was just as controlling and abusive in his own way. He used sex to
manipulate her. She enjoyed it but it didn't mean she hadn't fallen
into the same trap all over again.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was easy to call it abuse when Mark left bruises. Or when he openly
belittled her in front of their friends, humiliating her at cocktail
parties by calling attention to her lack of book smarts. He always
turned it off as a joke of course, and she always tried to laugh so
no one else realized his true intent; but Ella knew.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tom
was different because he was subtle. He'd been doing this a long
time, and Ella was hardly his first. He had perfected the art of
skillful debasement.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
was having the time of his life. Ella was easier to manipulate than
any woman he'd ever been with, it's what kept him coming back. He
could make her do just about anything, and he never even had to ask.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So
it came as no shock when she suggested getting rid of her husband.
Tom had no interest in pursuing anything beyond what they did in
seedy motel rooms, but Ella didn't know that. And he had already felt
a twinge of boredom... so why not? Ella would murder her husband in
the hopes that with him out of the way, she and Tom could finally be
together. And Tom would get to experience the thrill of ultimate
control.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
smiled. Yes, Ella would kill for him. She wouldn't kill to save
herself, but she'd do it to trade herself into a different kind of
slavery to another man. She was beautiful, but quite stupid.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
didn't take long to lay out a simple plan; Mark was to be the victim
of a random break in. He'd surprise a burglar and poor Ella would
come home from shopping to find his dead body in the living room.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She'd
been careful over the years to hide evidence of his anger; no one
knew she was a battered wife. No suspicion would fall on her, she
adored her husband, all of their friends would confirm it. Ella had
renewed hope for her life now; and she was certain she could pull the
trigger then play the part of the grief stricken wife.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They
planned the murder for the following Friday; she had a week to
practice her story.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tom
gave her the gun he'd bought months ago, the day after he met her. He
had known he would need it for something. But he hadn't dreamed it
would be anything this exhilarating.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Surprisingly,
the plan went off without a hitch. Ella played it to the hilt. It
would be a closed case soon enough.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
met Tom three days later at a deserted gas station six miles out of
town to give him back the gun.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
sat in his car and waited for her, grinning as he watched her pull up
and park next to him. She got out of her car, the gun in hand and
walked slowly towards him. He rolled down the window, and motioned
for her to get into the passenger side. Why not have one last tumble
in the sack?</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
was still smiling at her as she leveled the gun and shot him in the
head. She took his watch and his wallet and left him wide eyed,
slumped over the steering wheel of his Mercedes.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ella
was indeed very beautiful, and she wasn't so stupid after all.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; line-height: 19.2px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">©2016 Garden Summerland</span></span></div>
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<br />LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-87898758275212315112016-04-04T16:25:00.000-07:002016-04-04T16:25:37.333-07:00Demon Is the New Normal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8VCcGr3HMZthC2O3XYN6ugfef03HMT3qGnAnB4nomDgh9ID_XWhh3AzvC7g3M1GCWkE36Lus_N3WlM7pUxORVAfMFRmRgySgXvqiZbBRGaKcuJtHxUN7zAR97C5vpFECmZlqkkbBullVw/s1600/10178155_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8VCcGr3HMZthC2O3XYN6ugfef03HMT3qGnAnB4nomDgh9ID_XWhh3AzvC7g3M1GCWkE36Lus_N3WlM7pUxORVAfMFRmRgySgXvqiZbBRGaKcuJtHxUN7zAR97C5vpFECmZlqkkbBullVw/s320/10178155_s.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The doctors told me that Fridays would
be the worst. They hadn't said why, but this was my second one as a
free woman and I had to agree with them, but perhaps not for the same
reasons.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I attempted my usual routine; two black
coffees, six cigarettes and then a hot shower. I stood in the
bathroom wrapped in a fluffy white towel, but still managed to drip
water onto the marbled tile floor. I didn't care, I was in agony. The
piercing screams inside my mind had begun again; I fell to my knees
holding the sides of my head. I'd missed two doses of medication, now
he was back cursing at me and
telling me what to do.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cathan. The demon that controlled my
life. Unless I had those little pink pills, my 20 mg. a day, he made
me do things. Criminal things. Things no one else knew about. Secret
things. Things I loved. Things I craved.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I couldn't lie to myself anymore, I
missed him... my demon.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even though he became abusive when I
didn't listen, he had loved me when no one else had. So I didn't mind
doing small favors for him. It made a part of me deeply happy.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And all I'd done since I'd been locked
up and made to take pills was cry.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'd lived most of my life with Cathan
screaming my name. I was pretty used to it, and even the painful
headaches that followed his outbursts comforted me in an odd way.
Cathan was normal. Swallowing pills every day wasn't. I was the only
one that understood that. But if I hadn't at least agreed to the
medication, my family had threatened to keep me locked up
indefinitely. Cathan was dying in that institution, and I knew that
even though the pills made him sick, he could survive it. We both
could. So I'd nodded my head and gotten released. I didn't want the
pills, but I didn't have any other alternative. Now I was pretty much
on my own again... well as much as I'd ever been on my own. Me and
Cathan. It was a love/hate relationship, but the only real one I'd
ever had. I knew Cathan and he knew me, inside and out. It was...
comfortable.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now he whispered to me. I think it was
the only way he could be sure I was listening. I got really still and
rocked back and forth on the floor. The silence made me shiver. And
then his voice changed, it was soothing and warmed me all over, “None
of this will matter soon.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then he told me to get the pills. I
reached up and took the bottle from beside the sink. I knew he was
going to make me flush them down the toilet. I could do that.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Join me,” he hissed in my head. He
said it over and over again. “Take all of them. Get rid of those
pills. You know it's what you want.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He was laughing. Was it really what he
wanted? Was it what I wanted?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“No, I won't do it!” I screamed at
him. I threw the bottle of pills and it hit the wall sending a shower
of pink tablets down upon me. Then I saw myself picking them up; I
was in a frenzy as I ate them. But that wasn't enough for him. I felt
myself being dragged to my feet; then opening the medicine cabinet
and taking out the straight razor I had hidden there two years ago as
a reminder of how far I'd come.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I inhaled sharply as the silver blade
sunk into my wrist. I hadn't been prepared for the pain.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I screamed. Cathan was laughing inside
my head. He wouldn't be laughing soon.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Stop. Please, dear god, stop this!”
I begged him.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But still I pushed the blade deeper. I
didn't know what I was doing, I had no control.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now there would be no Cathan and no
pills. No new normal. There was only darkness consuming me, and then
there would be nothing.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was in the back of my mind...
something evil... I could feel it overwhelming me. Then there was more laughter; sinister, twisted, sick laughter. I looked in the mirror, he
was standing behind me with his arms around me.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cathan smiled wickedly; he was holding the
blade. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><br />©2016 Garden Summerland</span>LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-11178576760184332132016-02-26T15:24:00.000-08:002016-02-26T15:24:26.318-08:00Cruel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfUsMLbBoH6IKkSC-j-V4L50cH7Ay4bHXwn-UvFxefTAKf1_clGf9UJK0jqIKbTmMbvS07546qL9_hnJYIRBjMjLIaW0jViGGaeRiwCewxTN5l8ni9KUXPq2ZEN-AO_QdyCemG5GQiE0jW/s1600/10699972_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfUsMLbBoH6IKkSC-j-V4L50cH7Ay4bHXwn-UvFxefTAKf1_clGf9UJK0jqIKbTmMbvS07546qL9_hnJYIRBjMjLIaW0jViGGaeRiwCewxTN5l8ni9KUXPq2ZEN-AO_QdyCemG5GQiE0jW/s320/10699972_s.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ashley ached all over. She sat up in
bed and rubbed her eyes; they were swollen and sore.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I could see her clearly in my mind. She
was a vision of evil intent wrapped into an exquisitely beautiful
package; but not for long.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I centered my focus and began the hex.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She blinked her eyes, unable to
register the horror that began playing out as her porcelain skin
began to erupt into horrible blisters. In a few minutes they would
break open and bleed. The skin underneath would crack and fall away.
And then, the true intent of my spell would be revealed; deep
wrinkles embedded into her skin. I spoke the incantation as I held
the head of a broken doll in my hands Soon her
hands would begin to gnarl and twist; the blue-black veins becoming
more prominent as her skin got thinner and thinner.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She was aging. I was giving her the
face and body of a feeble old hag, while allowing her to keep her
youthful, shallow, and cruel mind.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Soon <i>they</i> would laugh at her.
She would be sorry for what she'd done to me. She was nothing more
than a bully, and the bigger they are, the harder they fall.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was going to take it all from her.
Those things she treasured the most; no more selfies, no young
friends to hang with. And worst of all, no more cute boys. She would
have no <i>bae</i>, ever again.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She tried to grab her phone, but it
slipped from her arthritic hands, falling onto the bed. I laughed
and Instagram popped up on her screen. She was aging in her photos
too. She tried frantically to delete them. It wasn't working; they
were still there. She tried to delete her account. It was no use.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She was getting hit after hit, comment
after comment. They all said the same thing.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>You're ugly. And old, so very old.
Get off Instagram. We HATE you.</i>
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The same poisonous venom she'd spat
onto me, a complete stranger.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I smiled, knowing it was time. The
popular girl was about to become unpopular. Tears poured from her
squinting eyes as she saw her follower count dropping. She screamed
in agony as she saw her following go from over 7 thousand, down to
two; her mother and her sister. And neither of them had logged in
for over six months. She struggled to check her other accounts. And
it was just what she feared, all of them had zero followers. Everyone
had left her; she was nobody.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She couldn't fathom why this was this
happening to her. She had always been so... beautiful and popular.
She was a Queen B.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then she heard the laughter. My
laughter. She jerked her head around. No one was there. This couldn't
be real. She thought she was going crazy. Or dreaming. That was it;
it was just a nightmare. She'd awaken soon and everything would be
fine. I cackled again.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Her skin began to itch and she clawed
at herself. She couldn't stop. Her youth was fading away.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She threw herself down upon her pillows
and sobbed until she was out of breath, her last bit of energy spent.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I lit tea light candles and set the
doll head in front of them; the ritual was almost complete.
Unpleasant minutes passed as I watched the dwindling flames and
Ashley coughed as her lungs began to collapse.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I'm sorry.” The words escaped her
lips in a dry whisper. I smiled. She had found redemption.
</span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I smashed the doll head and the spell
was broken. I am not so cruel after all. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">©2016 Garden Summerland</span></div>
<br />LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-37389590701881641442016-02-05T10:21:00.000-08:002016-02-05T10:21:56.985-08:00Devil May Care<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj35B2hYtI5UB9_ULuFKZj1K_BB4tmL0dRhpZGw2qrX_dvcsF8V5g_slJ_yiB5sATVkCQZW1ngc-zOjD-nOSJuma3I2TQf9eboIdmPyLj43xd_mShEQx-LEBRAgPlpLJtPPdfqOBnG4GaH7/s1600/3785296_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj35B2hYtI5UB9_ULuFKZj1K_BB4tmL0dRhpZGw2qrX_dvcsF8V5g_slJ_yiB5sATVkCQZW1ngc-zOjD-nOSJuma3I2TQf9eboIdmPyLj43xd_mShEQx-LEBRAgPlpLJtPPdfqOBnG4GaH7/s320/3785296_s.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hadn't seen Seth in days. The last
time he'd come to me, we'd argued and he'd left in a huff. He didn't
believe that I loved him, and wanted me to prove it. And now it
appeared we were going to have the same discussion again. He thought
he could break my will, but I knew I was stronger than that. At least
I thought I was.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sat on my bed as he paced back and
forth in front of me. I should have turned on the light; the sun had
gone down just as he'd arrived, and it was almost too dark to discern
his expression. He was going to plead his case again. I rolled my
eyes; I'd had enough.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Do it... for me.” His voice was
low, almost a whisper, but his words had a commanding power that
gripped my soul.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I fought against them. “No.” I said
it flatly, with no emotion, although my breath was shallow and
uneven. He had shaken my reserve and he knew it. He was pleased.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Then you don't really love me, do
you, my sweet Alice?” It wasn't really a question.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What do you want from me? You think
I'll agree to murder some random innocent person in cold blood
because<b> </b><i><b>you</b></i> say it will prove my love for you?”
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Yes. But hardly random, and
certainly not innocent.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“That's ridiculous. You're.... you're
insane.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Perhaps, but that's where we're at.
Put up or shut up my darling.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Absolutely not. I won't do it.” I
folded my arms across my chest and shook my head.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Then I guess we're done here, aren't
we?” He tugged on his leather gloves and smirked, his blue eyes
darkening as they narrowed ever so slightly.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Yes Seth, I suppose we are.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He turned and headed for the door, the
cloud of darkness following him like a trail.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I couldn't do it. I wouldn't do it. And
he couldn't make me... or could he? My thoughts were swimming in a
sea of moral quandary. I didn't want him to go.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He paused at the door.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Okay!” I screamed it at him. “Are
you satisfied?”
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Time seemed to stand still; suddenly he
was beside me, his leather clad fingers wiping away the tears that
trickled down my cheeks. I was losing my sanity, I wanted him to kiss
me.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Um.... no, I'm not satisfied... not
just yet.” His sinister laugh filled the space between us as a
purplish swirl of smoke surrounded him and he vanished.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A cold chill slithered under my skin
like an icy reptile and my heart shivered. Now all I had to do was
wait. Seth would tell me who and when, and I assumed provide the
means to do it. I had no idea how to kill someone; I'd never thought
about it.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bit by bit, his evil had bled into my
soul. Possession. That's what they called it. But there would be no
exorcist for me; only a 6 by 8 foot prison cell. There was no way
around it, I'd be guilty, and I would confess. And I'd have a ready
made defense; the devil made me do it. Of course, no one would
believe that it was the truth. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately,
I lived in a state that had no death penalty. They would put me away
for a long time; my sole comfort, that the devil may care. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">©2016 Garden Summerland</span><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-15986347295798458742016-01-29T11:28:00.000-08:002016-01-29T11:28:45.672-08:00The Turning<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE7JVUmZB_n9rY7vV4DHL_1kyckn6GZKseXXPQFDW237sy2903nsGhMUSAtM8hrw3HUkr5F7d72TCDemfU3_ED4NMJhAZH8BqstkjNTnjs6oTaNGHn0-gJ4vAujpQc-ySiRyq1QENPqB6O/s1600/16304626_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE7JVUmZB_n9rY7vV4DHL_1kyckn6GZKseXXPQFDW237sy2903nsGhMUSAtM8hrw3HUkr5F7d72TCDemfU3_ED4NMJhAZH8BqstkjNTnjs6oTaNGHn0-gJ4vAujpQc-ySiRyq1QENPqB6O/s320/16304626_s.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I tugged my bedroom curtains closed and
relished the darkness. It wouldn't be long. I counted in my head, 1,
2....3. Then I felt his hands slide around my neck and he moved them
sensuously down my bare shoulders. I turned around, my eyes
expectant, but I was still alone.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He laughed.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I squinted in the blackness, I knew he
was there... somewhere.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Are you afraid of me?” His voice
was smooth and deep, it soothed me.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Of course not, I... I...” I
stammered, I couldn't say it.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Oh my dear, loving me is dangerous.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Why?” I couldn't fathom feeling
anything but complete adoration for such beauty.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Because you won't care about
anything else.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“But I don't care about anything
else.”<br />“Then it is too late for you.”<br />He grabbed me and
kissed me.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And it was all that I knew, because
everything else had already been forgotten.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I forced myself to pull away; the need
to gaze upon his exquisite form was overwhelming. My eyes fluttered
open as if I'd been dreaming, and he had vanished. I folded my arms across my chest and shivered. I hated when he did that. No warning,
no good-byes, he was just … gone.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I paced back and forth, my bare toes
digging into the plush carpet as I wondered when I would see him
again. I picked up my phone from the night table and stared down at
it. I had no way of getting in touch with him.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Almost on cue, the phone vibrated in
my hand. He had never called me; how exciting it would be to have him
embrace modern technology. I swiped to answer. It wasn't him, it was
my best friend, Jennifer.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You're late.” She snarled.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“We were going to see a movie?”
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What?” I asked again, still lost
in thoughts of Jared.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You were supposed to be here at
seven. What is with you? Get over here, now.” She clicked the phone
off before I could respond. I searched for guilt. I didn't have any.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I dressed unhurriedly and headed to
Jen's. The fifteen minute drive seemed like three as my mind played
out erotic scenes with Jared.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I rang the bell and waited, trying to
focus on being the friend Jen deserved. Unfortunately, she was in
lecture mode as soon as she opened the door. She was no fan of Jared.
He'd taken me from her.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I Googled it... I know how it
happens. It's called The Turning. First you'll dream about him, once
a month, once a week... then it's every night. He will become all
that you think about, all that you want. You will become consumed.
It's happening already isn't it?”<br />“No.” I couldn't believe
she was going to be like this. She didn't understand. No one could.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Don't lie to me. Even that is a
sign. Deceitfulness. But I see right through you. Just like I saw
right through him from day one. He's evil; you have to see it.” Jen
paused and turned to face me. “Have you dreamt of him?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“No, of course not.” I could lie
easily now; to anyone.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Dammit, don't lie.”<br />She wasn't
going to let it go. I had to come up with something else.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Yes. Okay, okay... yes I've dreamt
of him. But it means nothing. He means nothing. I... I don't
even....” I was patronizing her and she missed it completely.<br />She
laughed. “Oh my god, you're lying to yourself. He's gotten to you.
He's inside you... corrupting everything you are. He's controlling
you even now...”<br />“Don't be so dramatic. No one has the power
to do stuff like that. I think you need to spend a little less time
watching those B horror flicks. You're confusing them with reality.”
I shook my head and turned from her but she grabbed my arm and jerked
me back. I glared at her with such force she stumbled backwards and
hit her head on the corner of the glass coffee table; then a hard
crack as her skull hit the marble tiled floor. I hadn't meant to do
it.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Oh my god, Jennifer.” I rushed to
her and knelt down beside her. Blood poured from a three inch gash on
the side of her head as her eyes filled with panic.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Deirdre, please promise me you'll
get away from him.”<br />“Shh, don't talk... everything will be
fine now.” I took the scarf from my neck and held it against her
wound. I stared at the cell phone on the table next to us.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She looked over at it too, “911”
she whispered hoarsely.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“They can't help you now. No one
can.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I loosened the pressure of the scarf
and sat with her until she lost consciousness. Then I called 911.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I knew it was too late. I cried. Why
had this happened?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jen had been right. I dreamt of Jared
every night. He'd gotten inside me, my mind and my soul.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now I was evil like he was. And I was
happy for the first time in my life. </span></div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">©2016 Garden Summerland</span>LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-80645298774294118552016-01-22T11:51:00.001-08:002016-01-22T11:51:55.713-08:00Heaven<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifuVe99XrQkTkjEI1Bk7oQdAQBZ72PTk-92zRWC2mutJ3CwGv8xUzh9P4Iut1n16hiS5i2uflim6rhmPnC-iq_ntmTY4Dc6zhUD4EUFLW4iXX5Zn9gDs1pLXqACnOdTgKY8JzlYEcw3pQo/s1600/36378453_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifuVe99XrQkTkjEI1Bk7oQdAQBZ72PTk-92zRWC2mutJ3CwGv8xUzh9P4Iut1n16hiS5i2uflim6rhmPnC-iq_ntmTY4Dc6zhUD4EUFLW4iXX5Zn9gDs1pLXqACnOdTgKY8JzlYEcw3pQo/s320/36378453_s.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was a sticky-wet, steamy kind of
night. Storms from earlier in the evening had been replaced by a
light mist that settled on my windshield obscuring the clear view I'd
hoped for. I'd been impatiently waiting almost three hours. I had
both of my windows down, but the street stench was practically making
me gag. I was thankful I hadn't eaten.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'd seen runaways, hookers and junkies.
I'd watched patrons getting blow jobs in the parking lot, and a
couple of guys left with dancers. But <i>she</i> hadn't appeared;
even though she was due off work at two. Now it was quarter til five.
Two groups of girls had come out an hour ago, but she wasn't amongst
them. It would be getting daylight soon. Where the hell was she?
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I'd parked on a side street across
from the club. The rental stuck out like a sore thumb. If I'd had
more time I would've boosted a car from the discount store across
from my motel. But I was working on a time constraint.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It had to be tonight. If I missed this
opportunity I'd have to wait another month. The ritual had to be done
on the first night of the full moon. And it had to be her. Heaven
Starr.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I got out of the car and closed the
door gently. I lit a cigarette and walked around to the trunk. There
was a homeless man with a full dirty-white beard sitting on the
sidewalk and propped up against the building. He looked me up and
down. I stepped towards him and he looked away.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Hey old man, you never saw me,
right?" I held out a twenty.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He smiled a toothless grin, nodded and
snatched the bill from my hand. He was probably seeing two of me
anyway. Nothing better than an unreliable witness. I smiled. My power
was slowly returning, and after tonight, it would be full strength.
Then nothing could stop me. No cops, no FBI... not even their god.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The right wing religious zealots that
have been all over the news this month would take the blame for my
work. The media had already given their coalition credit for two of
the six rituals I'd performed. I'd left clues to my real identity but
the cops were still too stupid to get it. I guess it didn't help that
we shared the same initials. I laughed. I loved the irony. As usual,
they were worshiping the wrong god.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They needed you to spell it out for
them, but I didn't have time to play cat and mouse games.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had a job to do. I didn't want to be
caught. I didn't need to be caught, and I wasn't going to be. I'd
been psychoanalyzed by the best of them years ago, and they'd been
wrong. It had nothing to do with my mother. I'd been called, and I'd
answered. And soon, I would be rid of the filth that had surrounded
me since birth, and I would ascend to my true place. And they would
all worship at my alters. Sinners.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'd already caused one of the clubs to
close. I'd gotten two girls from that one; I knew that was why. It
was always something in the numbers, but that was beyond my
comprehension. It didn't matter. You didn't have to be a genius to
perform the work of the righteous. And I had been chosen. I'd known
it all my life.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Heaven would understand.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I unlocked the trunk and retrieved my
gloves and handcuffs. I shoved them into the pockets of the army vest
I was wearing, and let the trunk lid down. As I turned around I
noticed the old man was still monitoring my activity.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"You don't worry about what I'm
doing, okay?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He mumbled something then spoke up, "I
ain't seen nothing Mister. You don't even exist."<br />"That's
right old man, I don't."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I flicked my cigarette into a puddle
and got back in the car. Just as I closed the door, she appeared.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There was an ethereal glow around her.
She was truly my star. I hated to sacrifice her, but it had to be
done, didn't it? I'd meditated many hours about it. And now I sat
questioning myself; could she be rehabilitated? Could she believe?
She was after all, called Heaven for a reason.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was in awe of her. She was the most
beautiful creature I'd ever seen. I wanted her for my own.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was in that moment that the course of my destiny realigned; I remade the decision I'd been adamant about only minutes
before. Everything changed in the flash of her smile. She could rule
by my side as my queen; heaven sent and so named. The vision evolved;
I could see it clearly now. Even the lowest among us could be
redeemed. I would save Heaven, and maybe by doing so, Heaven would
save me. The rest of them would go to hell.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">©2016 Garden Summerland</span></div>
</div>
LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-67774860679367993982016-01-15T10:44:00.000-08:002016-01-22T11:52:12.127-08:00Seven Years Off<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwzmR69VH7RepTZt5SBJqUxTVnMXDOoLF8NNev-p6zjRfEBfWSNxUuTAufES2QTxOCW6mD3Tk_MDhL7Ylgc0moOXSC-IG7MOTknE2_fsvbdLtRCd9gqixXx07szpK73-tmoqXrXxpLWsBE/s1600/7633600_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwzmR69VH7RepTZt5SBJqUxTVnMXDOoLF8NNev-p6zjRfEBfWSNxUuTAufES2QTxOCW6mD3Tk_MDhL7Ylgc0moOXSC-IG7MOTknE2_fsvbdLtRCd9gqixXx07szpK73-tmoqXrXxpLWsBE/s320/7633600_s.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Casi tapped her foot anxiously. Two
hours had gone by. One hundred twenty minutes she could never get
back. It was just like all the birthdays and Christmases he had
missed. They were gone unceremoniously and unappreciated. And now the
train station was practically deserted. She scoffed. This wasn't her
first time and it probably wouldn't be her last.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She rubbed her hands together wishing
she'd brought gloves. She tugged at the too small cap she wore. The
only thing he'd ever sent her. It was seven years old; she'd been
seven when she got it.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Her aunt had called her in from the
backyard, and she'd come running... tore open the brown papered
package. A pink and white striped knit cap with a huge pom pom on the
top of it. It had been the loveliest thing she'd ever seen. And it
was all hers. The only thing he'd ever given her, the only connection
she had.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She'd worn it for years. Knowing that
the very first time she saw him, she'd be wearing it. So here she
sat, looking ridiculous with a child's cap on her head. It was just
seven years later than she'd thought it would be.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She looked at her watch. It was almost
six. The last train would be coming in from the city. She felt her
heart slow and her throat went dry. He wasn't coming. Again.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She swallowed hard and searched in her
bag for a throat lozenge. She took one out of it's cellophane
wrapping and held the sticky square in her hand. Honey-lemon. Her
aunt knew she hated those. The cherry ones, those was her favorite.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Casi?” A man's voice interrupted
her inner conversation.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She was afraid to look up. Was it him?
Had he come after all? Would she even recognize him? She stared down
at the lozenge another few seconds... the man didn't speak again.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Her heart raced inside her chest and
slowly she raised her gaze to meet his.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
An old man in a rumpled brown suit
stood in front of her, motionless; an envelope in his outstretched
hand.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She let out a sigh of relief and
contempt as she snatched the envelope from his hand. Bitter tears streamed
down her cheeks as she glared at him.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What do you want old man? A tip?” She barked it at him, the hurt and rage building inside her.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then she noticed his hands; they were
shaking, uncontrollably. Oh dear god, the old man was gonna have some
sort of seizure right in front of her.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'm sorry... I'm so so sorry.” She
shoved the envelope in her purse & dropped the lozenge.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The old man watched as the lozenge hit
the dirty tile floor and he laughed.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Honey-lemon? I always hated those.
The cherry ones are my favorite.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Casi froze. Something inside her recognized that laugh. It was warm and familiar and just like her own.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She didn't dare look up again; and her
voice cracked when she spoke.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Daddy?” It was a whisper.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The old man sat down next to her on the
metal bench and touched the side of her face.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Nice hat. Maybe we can find one that
fits you better now.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
For the first time in her life, Casi
cried tears of joy.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
©2016 Garden Summerland</div>
LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-8187296574450374592016-01-08T09:06:00.000-08:002016-01-22T11:52:25.940-08:00Spoke Too Soon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw_Pm4RNNinM3sTb6_8obHBQCv-w1MEAcdNmlfQr_zuVeaIRX9yUhHQH6FwLIBTEjbqDNFnmejSaFIZXKYr8vRpSsXXmSfNDq0NcXTB7s-TPzkGVkM1cp9-UfOCsXmXkerZe9ZAjEu5HxE/s1600/19873614_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw_Pm4RNNinM3sTb6_8obHBQCv-w1MEAcdNmlfQr_zuVeaIRX9yUhHQH6FwLIBTEjbqDNFnmejSaFIZXKYr8vRpSsXXmSfNDq0NcXTB7s-TPzkGVkM1cp9-UfOCsXmXkerZe9ZAjEu5HxE/s400/19873614_s.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It had been seven days since she'd seen
him. And she'd cried every one of those days. A whole week of tears,
and for what? To ease her guilt?
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She had no one to blame. She's the one
that had broken things off. No contact. That was what she'd said. And
now she was miserable.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But it wasn't because she was lonely.
She'd never been lonely. A husband, two jobs, a lover and two best
friends all vying for her attention. Only now, she didn't have the
lover. She'd known that it would eventually come to this.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It had to be him or the husband. Had
she made the right choice?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She wasn't even sure how she and Sam
had gotten romantically involved. It had started innocently enough.
David was the one that had introduced them. Sam was one of his
childhood friends, and after Sam's divorce, he'd moved back to town
and reconnected with David. Then there was the end of summer
barbecue, and Sam came alone. He shook her hand when David introduced
them and it made her go weak in the knees.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Carly and David had been married for
eleven years, and she loved her husband. David was a traveling
salesman and although he was gone three weeks out of the month, she
knew she couldn't use that as an excuse.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She was fine being alone, that wasn't
the problem. She was restless and bored. And she needed the
excitement that Sam brought into her life. Late night rendezvous and
clandestine meetings. It made her heart race and her skin tingle.
Just thinking about him made her giddy. He was tall and muscular,
with blond hair that fell into small curls at the nape of his neck.
He had deep blue eyes and a Southern accent that made her melt.. He
was everything David wasn't.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But then... David got fired. Now he was
home all the time, and her unexplained outings were being
scrutinized. She had grown weary of the dishonesty. It had been
different when he was away, but now she had to face him, look into
his eyes and lie. It was more than she could bear.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They had been happy once; years ago it
had been David that gave her butterflies. She longed for those times
again. But she feared it could never be recovered. She had tasted the
forbidden fruit of Sam and now she realized there was no turning back
the clock. No matter how much her guilt ate away at her soul, she
couldn't shake the emptiness she felt since she'd decided to walk the
straight and narrow.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sam had been her secret pleasure. Not
even her best friends knew, and she wasn't about to tell them now
that it was over. No, she was going to have to face the facts, and
try to rebuild her relationship with her husband. Of course he had
been the logical choice, the only one that made sense. And yet... she
couldn't help second guessing her decision. She thought it would be
easier to say good-bye to Sam and never look back. But looking back
was all she'd done. She missed him. And soon the cold hard
realization began to sink in. She was in love with Sam.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There was nothing to be done. She was
going to have to tell David. Then there would be a messy divorce, and
she would lose everything she'd struggled for years to maintain. And
for what? The reality was, that life with Sam might not be as
thrilling as it appeared. But there was only one way to find out. Was
it worth the risk?
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She decided it was.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She would come clean that night. She
would pack her things, and confess her sins. And by next week, she'd
be with Sam.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On her drive home from work, she got
everything straight in her head. She would be honest, and succinct.
He could have everything, she just wanted out.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Upon her arrival, she found David
sitting in the living room in the dark.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“What's going on? Why are you sitting
in the dark?” she questioned as she turned on lights in the foyer.
He sat motionless in his recliner.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“David? What's... what's the matter?
You're scaring me.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She flicked on the lamp next to him,
illuminating his red face and swollen eyes. He'd been crying.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He reached his hands up to her, “Carly,
come here.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She took his hands and knelt at his
feet. He must've found out about Sam. She hadn't wanted him to hear
it from someone else. This was going to be harder than she thought.
But she had no choice now but to come clean. The sooner she got this
out of the way, the sooner she could start a new life with Sam.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“David....I...I don't know what to
say. I'm so sorry. I wanted to be the one to tell you. And we never
meant for it to happen... it's just... you're gone so much... and
Sam... Sam has been there for me. And we...”
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He jerked his hands away.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“What the hell are you talking
about?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“David... Sam and I have been seeing
each other for about a year. And.... and I want a divorce. He loves
me, and I love him.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He laughed. Not just a chuckle, but
full on raucous laughter.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Carly... you fool. You are so
self-centered, you always were. If only you'd kept your mouth shut.
There was a horrible accident out on route 5 this morning. Sam is
dead.”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />©2016 Garden Summerland</span>
<br />
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LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-54577248684535057662015-12-21T10:38:00.000-08:002015-12-21T10:38:19.159-08:00Mirrored Soul Soliloquy <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOvuTE26boJtOJnypkCk7n9K0_W28lyS4-3uLfyxkZfQ7f5TFxNSt2iA8fuuixiwiLTlN4NqEaUHjOk_wDBk768_1ovg2Lq8xRdTW5nvlF54ocDETLLjY0OI6v0eOgLo2VM4l-musa4zQm/s1600/19115727_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOvuTE26boJtOJnypkCk7n9K0_W28lyS4-3uLfyxkZfQ7f5TFxNSt2iA8fuuixiwiLTlN4NqEaUHjOk_wDBk768_1ovg2Lq8xRdTW5nvlF54ocDETLLjY0OI6v0eOgLo2VM4l-musa4zQm/s400/19115727_s.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.22in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.22in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.22in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">I
had awakened and yet I still slept; restless and broken. I still
dreamt of you, but I could no longer remember details, only fuzzy
recollections of your beautiful face; an amber lit street, strangers
and your friends, dancing in the dark. </span>
</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.22in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some
of them I recognized from old photographs, but I never knew them. I
was confused... had I been with you? Yes, I could still feel your
presence; lines had been crossed. Reality to my dreams, my dreams
into your reality. But now it was all a part of the past... or was
it?</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.22in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As
expected, my room was unbearably hot. I opened a window onto the cool
night and looking up I counted stars, your stars. Our stars. I
whispered to the wind; look up at that sky; endless blackness dotted
with tiny sparks. I wanted you. And I would have you. Again.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.22in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">I
took out my journal and jotted down the time and how I felt. </span>
</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.22in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sad?
No. Depressed? Maybe a little. But tonight's ruling emotion was more
like bereavement. I'd lost... something. I felt relieved and
lighter... freer and yet bound even tighter to my fantasy. But it was
so much more than a fantasy. This one had come true, and I knew we
would be reunited once again. I felt it deep inside my soul... my
bones... what was deeper? I couldn't escape you. My soul mate, my
twin flame... separated by eons, years traveled in a heartbeat...
love to love. Me to you.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.22in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
cool air made me shiver. Sleep beckoned once again, or perhaps it was
you... calling from across time. I would go back to you. I felt your
words inside my mind.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.22in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"> <i>Meet
me in our secret place... close your eyes and I will appear. </i></span>
</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.22in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">I
did as your voice commanded. </span>
</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.22in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nothing.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.22in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I
kept my eyes closed and waited... willing myself to you.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.22in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Still
nothing.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.22in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">My
breath became shallow as my hopes fell. </span>
</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.22in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I
opened my eyes and let the window down gently, turning my back on the
powerful shimmering orb in the sky.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.22in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">I
fought the urge to smash my fist through the pane. I wanted to feel
the shattering glass... jagged shards slicing into my arm. That was
what my heart felt like... separated from you. Bereaved? Yes. That
was it. You were split from me so long ago, and never allowed to find
your way home to me. </span>
</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.22in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">And
now you wander...seeking solace with <i>them. </i>Your lovers.
Hundreds of them; adoring sycophants willing to do anything you ask. </span>
</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.22in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">They
are lost too... still you go to them; sleep with them and tell them
you love them. For what? Only to breed dissatisfaction because they
are not me. </span>
</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.22in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But
I am <i>here</i>. Silently I cry out for you in the middle of the
day. My words never reaching their intended destination. Only... you
do not know that I am here; how could you? Your world has been
twisted, turned upside down; an amnesiac soul tossed around the
unfathomable abyss. That city. The place you call home.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.22in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You
catch your breath as I whisper your name. You can feel me...
somewhere out there, and somewhere inside; deep within yourself, you
know I exist. I must, or there is no purpose to any of it. I felt the
same and then I saw you. Your smile touched the aching spaces between
my heart and my soul. The empty space that was all that was left when
your soul was ripped from mine. You feel it too. A longing that
nothing satisfies... you search for another high, but there is no
drug to replace me. Your addiction isn't for the feeling... it is for
my presence inside you.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.22in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hear
me now, my love. My twin... the white hot flame of my mirrored soul
can never be extinguished or replaced.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.22in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; line-height: 16.5455px; orphans: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.22in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; line-height: 16.5455px; orphans: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">©2015 Garden Summerland</span></span></div>
<br />
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LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-14933532952493983572015-09-10T07:41:00.001-07:002015-09-10T07:41:58.844-07:00A Fine Line<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihmnSNMGbpqzfbcy7cRJXZ7_-9bRQUK9G_3wFY8X9Lux7FElJaxSABhJ7HXTpSF5Ipp4Q2rTwYXmX5N8LvRcIpnlfHAB3T9elZK_nxtApS27ynXK1q2ZP2NMf-aDVAu0OkZTV8mvH5Vjgm/s1600/15018361_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihmnSNMGbpqzfbcy7cRJXZ7_-9bRQUK9G_3wFY8X9Lux7FElJaxSABhJ7HXTpSF5Ipp4Q2rTwYXmX5N8LvRcIpnlfHAB3T9elZK_nxtApS27ynXK1q2ZP2NMf-aDVAu0OkZTV8mvH5Vjgm/s320/15018361_s.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At first I struggled with the prospect
of being alone. But I had gotten used to it. A new-found sense of
freedom made the time pass quickly and eased my conscience somewhat.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then today I found an old
photograph taken of us when we were toddlers. A Christmas picture
with Santa taken at the mall. We were smiling. We looked happy in our
matching outfits. Thankfully, I didn't remember it.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I didn't recall when things had
changed, only that they did. We'd grown up together, with so many
things in common and yet we were so different from each other. I'd
always been the one that cared too much, until one day, I just
didn't.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That day had come two years ago. It had
been two years since I'd held her in my arms. Two years since she'd
died. Two years and I could still feel her pulse weakening beneath my
fingertips. She had passed out but I didn't turn loose of her, I
couldn't. Her words echoed in my head and my grip had tightened.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>"Loser. You'll never be
anything, and no one will ever love you. You're ugly.</i>"
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was her morning mantra directed at
me as she greeted me at breakfast every day.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tears had streamed down my face as hers
had turned an off shade of blue. My were fingers were locked around
her neck, all I'd had to do was wait. I remembered it fondly just
like it was yesterday. I'd counted in my head until she'd stopped
breathing. Had I known it would be that easy I would've done it years
before I finally did.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How odd that the old photo made me miss
her. The duality of loving someone so much that you actually hated
them had always been my cross to bear. And now, apparently, so was
the guilt.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She had been my best friend.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My only friend.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My twin.
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">©2015
Garden Summerland</span></span>
</div>
LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-59403041733205551962015-09-01T11:32:00.000-07:002015-09-01T11:32:19.170-07:00Ten til Six<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgixEQBUNkLdmi5G68vJPltVpvBT0BGXUIgca0Kikuv4WvkuoZSToE3OonFedXGkys4GtBDAOFcIVv57Kifcv2cLajHSGglueaBwcxZgWl2x5S30hIvc-0XLltNNcDxy-m_3hMMCfhQLSxU/s1600/42777022_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgixEQBUNkLdmi5G68vJPltVpvBT0BGXUIgca0Kikuv4WvkuoZSToE3OonFedXGkys4GtBDAOFcIVv57Kifcv2cLajHSGglueaBwcxZgWl2x5S30hIvc-0XLltNNcDxy-m_3hMMCfhQLSxU/s320/42777022_s.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I stared down at the phone in my hands.
It seemed like I had been waiting for hours. It had only been ten
minutes, it was almost 5:30.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I checked the volume. I turned it off
and then back on again. I changed the ring-tone. Five times. Still
nothing.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It had now been twelve minutes.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I needed an answer. The test had been
positive. What were we going to do?
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe he hadn't gotten the message yet?
It had gone straight to voice mail.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What a thing to say on voice mail.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Danny, I'm HIV positive.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That's all I'd said. My voice hadn't
even cracked. In fact, I wasn't upset about the potential death
sentence I'd been handed. I'd known since yesterday afternoon, but
couldn't bring myself to call my lover until this morning. And
now....
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I should've told him in person. But I
just couldn't face him. I was ashamed even though I'd done nothing
wrong.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This didn't happen to people like us. I
thought this kind of thing only happened to junkies and promiscuous
amorals. Not a committed couple of three years.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We'd always been careful.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I thought for a moment... had he been
unfaithful? Was this his fault? Surely it wasn't mine.<br />I'd only
been with two other men in my entire life. But what about Dan?
Somewhere deep inside me, I blamed him. Yes, it was his fault... it
had to be. He had been with a lot of women before me. He had used
drugs. He was... well he used to be one of those promiscuous amorals.
I thought he had changed.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Still the phone didn't ring.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I laid it face down on the table in
front of me. I sipped my latte and tears began forming in my
eyes.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I didn't want to cry. Certainly not in
a busy coffee shop.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I swallowed back my pain. No. I would
not do this. There was no point in getting upset. There was nothing
to be done now. And the doctor had said that with proper care, my
prognosis was good. It wasn't like in the 80s; there had been quite a
few medical advances, and I could live a long healthy life. As long
as I followed a certain protocol.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The words echoed inside my head.
“Certain protocol”.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If Danny had followed a certain
protocol I wouldn't have this dread disease.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Suddenly I didn't want him to call and
I wished I'd never called him. But I had been specifically instructed
to inform anyone I'd had intimate contact with in the past ten years.
I was thankful I'd only had to make one call.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It had been fifteen minutes.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He wasn't going to call me. How could
this even be happening?
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My life was coming apart at the seams
because of sex. And carelessness. Oh god how would I tell my parents?
My family? What had I done to deserve this?
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My heart beat wildly inside my chest
and my brain was swimming. I needed something stronger than a latte.
I put ten dollars on the table and got up to leave. There was a
liquor store around the corner.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nausea swept over me and I felt faint.
The room began to go dark... I was falling; then I felt my head crack
against the tile floor.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My eyes fluttered and there was blood
everywhere. And people.... they were scrambling around me.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I screamed at them not to touch me. I
squinted and strained to see the huge white clock on the wall. It was
ten minutes til six. I began to convulse and then everything went
black again as my phone vibrated in my hand and my new ring-tone
played. Mad World; it certainly was.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My last thought was of Danny and how
much I had loved him. I wondered if he was finally calling me back.
I'd never know.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 1;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">©2015
Garden Summerland</span>
</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
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</div>
LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-86579279825951428752015-07-15T12:52:00.000-07:002015-07-17T06:02:08.092-07:00Artist Spotlight: Q & A with Bella Carter<br /><b><br />This post is to introduce everyone to Bella Carter, who has a brand new release,</b><div>
<b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Final-Reunion-Bella-Carter-ebook/dp/B011M2MZ2U/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1436989423&sr=1-1&keywords=bella+carter&pebp=1436989416853&perid=1VF9DBA94PT58Q79J151" target="_blank">"Final Reunion"</a> available on Amazon now!!<br />Follow the link to download. It is currently FREE on Kindle Unlimited.</b><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCgdNUYf8oI97YbafgcG1Z44mLO77cjQd6vqWWq6d48FWFU13PzODkIhwRXqj5FAFQRQpU5iadb2eFvo5CPAs5vcUX5ZcJSDWehKguoouPEXXD3hRe4r6sx26DD2n5-scB7QBjcAg19U2F/s320/AMZ_Final+Reunion_Cover.jpg" /></div>
<br /><br /><br /><b><br />Bella Carter is the author of several titles, most recently, Final Reunion. When not diving into imaginary worlds, Bella enjoys spending time on Lake Michigan with her little dog and her husband. <br /><br />At the keyboard, she hopes to draw the reader in and make them a part of the story, taking them to places they would not ordinarily go.</b><br /><br /><b>Okay, here we go, Bella Carter & ten questions!</b><br /><br /><b>1. When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer? </b><br /><br />I’ve loved books and the idea of writing since I was a child. My favorite class in high school was Creative Writing and I believe the positive feedback I received is what really made me want to be a writer. <br /><br /><b>2. How long does it take you to write a book? </b><br /><br />My latest took me nearly a year. But I did not work on it only. I tend to hop around from project to project. <br /><b><br />3. What is your work schedule like when you're writing? </b><br /><br />Lately it is spotty. Lots of distractions come with Summer time fun. When I do get settled in I usually write a few hours a day.<br /><b><br />4. What would you say is your interesting writing quirk? </b><br /><br />I’m not sure how interesting it is but I am addicted to post it notes. I have them everywhere! I can’t seem to function without them.<br /><b><br />5. How do your books get published? </b><br /><br />I independently publish all my books. I love having control over every aspect. This allows me the freedom to write and publish when I feel like it.<br /><b><br />6. When did you write your first book? </b><br /><br />I published my first book, Minnesota Winter, under another pen name, Lucy Burton in 2012<br /><br /><b>7. What do you like to do when you're not writing? </b><br /><br />Drink coffee and visit the lake. My husband and I recently moved close to Lake Michigan and we absolutely love it! My favorite thing in the world is to drink coffee and walk my little dog on the pier.<br /><br /><b>8. How many books have you written? Which is your favorite?</b> <br /><br />I have three titles under Bella and I think my favorite is the first, Loss of Innocence. <br /><b><br />9. What do you think makes a good story? </b><br /><br />A character you can connect with is what I feel makes a great story. Hopefully the author is able to pull in the reader in a way that makes them experience the same ups and downs as the characters.<br /><br /><b>10. As a child, what did you want to do when you grew up?</b><br /><br />I was madly in love with Indiana Jones and wanted to be an archaeologist. But then I discovered writing and knew being a writer was what I was meant to do.<br /><br /><br /><b>You can find more books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bella-Carter/e/B009AEEJWM/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1" target="_blank">Bella</a> on Amazon</b></div>
LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-40954367249223370542015-07-04T14:10:00.000-07:002017-07-10T16:20:29.282-07:004th of July<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeGnV0VmhkvfgmR1vYkEJngF4vXxSMilXTFDMpveoOo3MjE8e1_G-Yv9Rrg__mHaBpz9Hug-OvNZrrTwMeFyit0mchAOugdK8iXZg5OdDcZQSZ-ropoidMu-bTQvm3HFOX5dtPjbb-afbH/s1600/31645830_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeGnV0VmhkvfgmR1vYkEJngF4vXxSMilXTFDMpveoOo3MjE8e1_G-Yv9Rrg__mHaBpz9Hug-OvNZrrTwMeFyit0mchAOugdK8iXZg5OdDcZQSZ-ropoidMu-bTQvm3HFOX5dtPjbb-afbH/s320/31645830_s.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I forced my eyes to go blurry as I
stared out the window. It made the others seem like ethereal beings
floating weightlessly on the front lawn. Their white gowns flowing in
the slight breeze seemed to glitter in the sunlight splintering
through the foliage of the giant oaks. The beings waved and danced
for me. They could be angels. I wanted to believe in them.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Then they came back into focus. They
were not angels; they were just crazies. Like me.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I blurred my vision again to try to
make the bars appear thinner. I wished I could slip through them and
fly away. I closed my eyes and concentrated. Nothing happened. If
only I knew the magic words I'd long since forgotten. How long had I
been here?
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I stepped away from the window.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I surveyed my room for the hundredth
time that day, and it was only ten o'clock. The journal on my bedside
table mocked me. I had been instructed to write in it whenever I
felt... sad. I smirked. I could've filled a thousand journals by now.
They had given me crayons. I laughed at them, then I ate the entire
box. 48 colors. Weren't they supposed to be non-toxic? Idiots give those
things to kids.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On the upside, it had gotten me a short
reprieve from these four walls. I'd been rushed to the infirmary in
the middle of the night with horrid stomach cramps. It had been worth
it.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The next day I'd asked for colored gel
pens. Unsurprisingly they denied my request.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">How was I supposed to write you a
letter?
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You never visited me; and you never
called.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">No one did. I'd been forgotten.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I would have been sad about that, but I
had figured out a way to make all of you remember me.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You'd see me on the news next week and
then you'd all be sorry. Then your recollection of me would return;
how you'd had me locked away. Forgotten. Not even a fond memory.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A month ago I'd taken up smoking. You'd
find that out too.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Jerry, one of the night orderlies had
taken a liking to me.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He brought me chocolates and let me
sneak out with him to smoke.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I wondered what he expected in return.
Too bad I'd never find out.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In a few days, he would burn with the
rest of us.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">July was about to get hotter.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Four days til Independence Day. Exactly
two years since they'd put me in this cage.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A part of me wished I could escape to
see the fallout. But it was more poetic to go down in flames.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You will have to live the rest of your
life knowing my death is your fault.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Maybe you'll miss me as much as I've
missed you. Maybe you won't.
</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My dying wish is that all of you will
suffer as much as I have.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; line-height: 20.2222232818604px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> © Garden Summerland</span></span></div>
LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4648872630720280430.post-37536791527606105332015-05-06T14:53:00.000-07:002015-05-06T19:55:03.170-07:00ARTIST SPOTLIGHT: Liam Rooke<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<span class="ws26" style="color: black; font-family: Sakkal Majalla; font-size: 35px;">Today's Feature:</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<span class="ws26" style="color: black; font-family: Sakkal Majalla; font-size: 35px;">Liam Rooke </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<span class="ws26" style="color: black; font-family: Sakkal Majalla; font-size: 35px;">Actor, VOA, Author, Personal Trainer</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQn7Feh7RjThTFaGwzDEQ8n4nZjvFbWn1npIObcO4uEYN8_pQ29uMROi8znTDDeRq0y84SrSrMHEOaTEAQFCYS7xmEer6LXzC-N7UEM3ZNHIQCVfzeavzAslRpkPS3USJVMsaunKX4CuvX/s1600/LiamRooke3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQn7Feh7RjThTFaGwzDEQ8n4nZjvFbWn1npIObcO4uEYN8_pQ29uMROi8znTDDeRq0y84SrSrMHEOaTEAQFCYS7xmEer6LXzC-N7UEM3ZNHIQCVfzeavzAslRpkPS3USJVMsaunKX4CuvX/s1600/LiamRooke3.jpg" height="400" width="265" /></a></div>
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<span class="ws26" style="color: black; font-family: Sakkal Majalla; font-size: 35px;"> Biography</span></div>
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<span class="ws14" style="color: black; font-family: Sakkal Majalla; font-size: large;">Growing up in South Yorkshire, a small ex-mining town called Barnsley, I was the little chunky child who quietly watched the world pass by. Family and friends viewed me as reserved, an introvert. Primary years passed by as I watched others succeed at school, not being aware of what, if anything, I was good at or knowing which direction my life would take. My motto was, 'if I keep quiet, no one will know I'm here.' Trying hard in my studies, I couldn't quite find my calling until the final year in primary school when there was an announcement for a production of Sweeney Todd. Unknown to anyone, I put my name forward for the part of Sweeney Todd, the demon barber and fortunately, as no one else wanted the part, the teachers had no option but to give it to me! Everyone was sceptical that I could ever learn the lines, never mind speak them! How I amazed everyone!! My mother cried at each performance and others stood in awe - they couldn't believe what they were seeing. The transformation was unbelievable. In front of an audience, I had finally found my niche in life. I will never forget the headmaster at school saying to my parents, 'Of all the children in the school, Liam was the last person any of us would have imagined could have done that. Brilliant, you have a budding actor on your hands.' I had been 'bitten' and from then on took every opportunity to pursue acting. My confidence and self esteem, from being non existent, soared and I truly believed I could do anything if I applied myself. Having gained the necessary qualifications, I applied for College to study Performing Arts. Distinctions across the board led me to University; maybe not the right avenue, but I needed to prove to myself that I, ‘Liam Rooke’, could study for a BA Honours Degree and graduate. Not being academically favored, I had to work harder at theory, but sailed through practicals and performed lead parts in numerous productions. Gaining a BA Honours Degree 2:1, I progressed into the entertainment industry and have T.V., film, short film and voice over credits, and have performed at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. I also have my own projects including traveling to Sweden to take a role in a Swedish comedy which has been aired throughout that country. I am currently taking on various workshops and seminars to continue my professional development. Alongside this I decided to pursue a Personal Trainer qualification, not only to add another string to my bow, but to keep myself in tip top shape and have a thorough knowledge of body transformation. My experience ranges from academic to intense practical work in all areas of the business. I love what I do and am eager to climb the creative industry ladder and get involved in what I can when I can. This is who I am and people know me for my creative spirit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Liam has also authored five books:</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Beginners-Guide-Becoming-Actor-Success/dp/1508425329/ref=la_B00VVV8W5M_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1430945389&sr=1-1" target="_blank">A Beginners Guide to Becoming an Actor</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Motivation-Hold-Mr-Liam-Rooke/dp/1511528338/ref=la_B00VVV8W5M_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1430947998&sr=1-2" target="_blank">Motivation?: You Hold the Key</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Drama-Games-Workshop-Techniques-success/dp/1508730172/ref=la_B00VVV8W5M_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1430948061&sr=1-3" target="_blank">Drama Games: Workshop and Drama Games and Techniques</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/There-Back-Dark-Journey-Depression/dp/1508664838/ref=la_B00VVV8W5M_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1430948131&sr=1-4" target="_blank">There and Back, The Dark Journey</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Hungry-Fitness-Book-Beginner-Wellbeing/dp/1507844433/ref=la_B00VVV8W5M_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1430948326&sr=1-5" target="_blank">Hungry 4 Fitness Book 1</a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Please visit his Amazon Author page:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Liam-Rooke/e/B00VVV8W5M/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1430364717&sr=1-1" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Follow Liam online:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://twitter.com/LiamRooke" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Liam-Rooke-Actor/200680986160?fref=ts" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span></div>
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<a href="http://liamrooke.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">Blogger</span></a></div>
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LoLa Autryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18323978896715901256noreply@blogger.com0